


Half Agony, Half Hope

by PhoenixTalon



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Romance, if Margaret accepted his first proposal, what would have happened?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/pseuds/PhoenixTalon
Summary: Suppose Margaret had accepted John's first proposal?  Would her distaste for him have softened?  Could their marriage bed resolve their misunderstandings more quickly?  Or would it have made everything much more complicated?  A WIP.  There will be smut.
Relationships: Margaret Hale & John Thornton, Margaret Hale/John Thornton
Comments: 83
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will always be a little out of character, as I don't think Margaret would have accepted John under ANY circumstance. But it's fanfic, so let's play a little.

“I mean that you are bound in honor and she has shown her feelings for all the world to see.”

****

“I want you to be taken care of.”

Her mother’s words rang through Margaret’s ears like a death knell. She bit back the tart response on her tongue and felt guilt that it even passed through her thoughts. Her mother looked so very frail and weak.

“I can take care of myself, mother,” She smoothed a damp lock of hair from her mother’s cheek. “And you forget father’s lessons. We’re comfortable.”

“For now, Margaret,” Her mother closed her eyes. “But it won’t last. Your father has no head for figures, no head at all. We must be practical, my dear.”

“Mother,” Margaret squeezed her mother’s clammy hand. “What is it you want me to do? Do you want me to help father teach? Take a job myself? I suppose I could go to Mr. Thornton and ask for a job in his factory.”

She’d attempted the joke to make her mother smile at the absurd jest. But at his name, her mother’s gaze glinted in desperation.

“Not a job,” Her mother looked askance. “But…Dixon told me what happened. That dreadful mob. And you were struck…”

“That was very wrong of Dixon,” Margaret said angrily. “I was fine, barely a scratch. Mr. Thornton and his mother called a doctor and I went straight home. It was nothing, I swear to you.”

“I know, I know,” Her mother pressed her lips to Margaret’s hands. “But that is just it, Margaret. That is what he did. He took care of you.” 

She wasn’t entirely sure what her mother was getting at, but she wanted to get off the subject of Mr. Thornton.

“But you need not go to him, my dear. He will come to you.”

Margaret snapped from her reverie. “What?”

“He will come to you,” Her mother said eagerly. “He will—oh, Margaret. You must accept him. For my sake.”

After a long moment, Margaret realized what her mother was implying. “Mother! He is very likely to check on me. But to suggest that he would make me an offer—really. My presence offends him and I must say the feeling is quite mutual. He would never consider such a thing.”

“Margaret, Dixon told me,” Her mother protested. “She told me that you stood in front of him while that terrible crowd broke down his doors. That you were struck in place of him. Now your feelings—I know your feelings towards him, but he does not, and he will think—well—he will think you care for him.”

“He could not possibly imagine such a thing.”

“Margaret, please,” Her mother’s voice broke. “He can take care of you. I cannot count on your father to do so. Look at what he has done! Look at where he has brought us! He will send you both to the poorhouse and I cannot endure it, I cannot go to my grave knowing you will be beggars—”

She broke into tears. Margaret wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders and kissed her temple. 

“You mustn’t upset yourself,” She soothed her mother. “You’ll work yourself into a fever.”

“Please, Margaret,” Her mother’s eyes shone with tears. “Please. You must promise me. Promise me if he makes you an offer, you will accept.”

“Mother, you’re not well. You can’t—”

“I am not dying, Margaret,” Her mother’s eyes flashed. “But you and I both know I will not last and your father cannot protect you. Please, Margaret. Please.”

What would it hurt? If she made this promise to her mother? It would ease her anxieties and soothe her sleep. Mr. Thornton could not possibly make her an offer. He disdained her just as she disdained him. He thought her soft-hearted and weak; she thought him harsh and cruel. No, no, he would never ask her such a thing. It was a false hope her mother had. What harm would it do to feed it?

“Very well, mother,” Margaret sighed. “I promise you that I will accept. If he makes an offer.”

“Swear it,” Her mother insisted. “Swear on my life.”

Margaret hesitated. There was something foreboding about the whole scene, as though she were daring God not to do something. But she ignored the feeling and nodded towards her mother.

“I swear on your life. I will accept him if he offers. But I would not get my hopes up, mother.”

Her mother’s anguished expression faded into contentment. She sank into her pillows and she stared up towards the ceiling, whispering a prayer of thanks. Margaret watched these demonstrations of abject relief with a cynical gaze. She rather wished she’d been able to convince her mother that she was the last woman in the world John Thornton would wish to wed. But it made no difference. He would not make her an offer.

****

Her head stopped hurting after a few hours or so. She thought perhaps the rock had merely grazed her and the shock of it all had caused her to swoon. The doctor told her in the carriage that face and head wounds often bled more. In all honesty, waking up to Mr. Thornton’s silly sister whispering about how Margaret had “her sights set on him” was far more distressing than being struck by the rock.

Her mother’s illness had taken a turn in the night. Margaret had made sure her bloodstained gown was hidden away and brushed her hair so that it artfully covered her wound. The very last thing her ailing mother needed was to worry further. Margaret was already furious that Dixon had mentioned what happened at the mill. Physical evidence of the altercation would only cause her mother more anxiety. 

When Mr. Thornton arrived at her doorstep, she was unsurprised but wary. She knew it was likely he would come by to check in on her. After all…she had leapt in front of him to save his life. She was so sure the crowd would not hurt her…but their starved madness…she should not have been so hasty.

He was very pale when she let him into the parlor. Paler than usual. He had an almost nervous air about him, though ‘nervous’ was not quite the word she’d use. She noticed his discomfort in speaking to her previously, as though he disliked her discovering his sharp edges. 

“I’ve not noticed the color of this fruit.” His voice was strange. She could not understand why he seemed so discomfited.

“Miss Hale, I’m afraid I was very ungrateful yesterday.”

She blinked at him. “You’ve nothing to be grateful for.”

Her words seemed to startle him. “I think that I do.”

“Why, I did only the least that anyone would do,” Margaret replied. He had not asked for her welfare. She had assumed he would give a cursory once over, ask how she fared, then quickly excuse himself. She could not fathom why he seemed so peculiar. 

His expression was inscrutable, almost…disappointed. “That cannot be true.”

“Why, I was…after all, responsible for placing you in danger. I would’ve done the same for any man there.” She walked over to her father’s desk, laden with books.

Now his expression turned truly odd. “Any man? So you approved of that violence, you think I got what I deserved—”

“Oh no, of course not!” She rushed in to say. “But they were desperate. I know if you had talked—”

“I forgot,” His tone became sardonic. “You imagine them to be your friends.”

She resisted the urge to tartly respond that they were her friends. “But if you were to be reasonable—”

“Are you saying that I’m unreasonable?”

His voice had not yet become angry but she could see the temper in his gaze. She was testing his patience, certainly. It would do no good to light that fuse, however much she wanted to. Even more so, she wished to help the Higgens’.

“If you would talk with them,” she began and stepped towards him earnestly, “and not set the soldiers on them, I know they would—”

“They will get what they deserve.” The harshness in his voice made her step back and he looked as though he regretted his tone. He took a deep breath.

“Miss Hale, I didn’t just come here to thank you.”

Of course not. He came to check on her wellbeing. But he could clearly see she was well. So why on earth was he— 

“I came—because—” He swallowed hard. She had never seen him like this before. So strangely nervous, almost afraid, completely out of sorts. It began to make her nervous and she so prided herself on not being nervous around Mr. Thornton.

“I think it—very likely that I—I know I’ve never found myself in this position before…it’s—difficult to find the words…” 

She suddenly recognized that expression of his. She’d seen it before. Henry Lennox had the very same expression when he’d proposed to her. 

“Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong.”

Margaret could no longer hear the rest of his speech. It was as though everything blocked out all that was around her, Mr. Thornton’s fumbling voice, the sound of her own heartbeat thudding in her throat—the only thing she could hear was her mother’s voice. 

“Swear it. Swear on my life.”

He was looking at her. Had he asked her the question? She could not remember. She felt terribly pale. Perhaps the rock had struck her harder than she thought. But all she could think of was her feeble mother, desperately begging her to promise. She had promised. What else did Margaret Hale have in this barren, bleak north, but her own solemn word? 

“I…accept.”

Mr. Thornton stared at her. Her eyes filled with tears and she knew it was horribly obvious that these were not tears of joy. 

“I accept your proposal,” She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from spilling. But Mr. Thornton could easily see the dismay on her face. 

“Miss Hale,” His voice sounded a little strangled. “I do not wish you to accept me out of—out of anything aside from—that is to say, I would not wish you to accept me if it were to make you unhappy.” 

Unhappiness had been her bedfellow since they’d arrived in Milton. What was a little more unhappiness? But this acceptance of his vile proposal, this consent to be Margaret Thornton…it would relieve her mother. What’s more, they would no longer want for anything. Her mother was right, her father could not be counted on to keep financial stability. But marrying into the Thorntons…

She resisted the urge to shudder. To think about marriage in such cold-blooded, horrid terms. It made her feel physically sick. But what other choice did she have?

Margaret raised her chin. “I do not wish you to ask me if it is out of—out of some obligation to preserve my honor. I have done nothing to be ashamed of in regards to—”

“I do not ask you out of such an obligation, I ask you because I love you.”

His tone was brusque and angry; harsh steel over such soft and sweet words. It sent Margaret into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. She badly wanted to tell him that he should not love her, as she did not like him and never had. But her mother…her poor, sweet, sickly mother…she had promised.

“I have accepted your proposal,” Her reply was as cold as ice. “Was there anything else, Mr. Thornton?”

He stared at her for a long moment. What did he expect? For her to leap for joy at marrying into his dreadful family? 

“In that case,” His tone matched her coldness. “I would have you call me John.” 

Revulsion filled her soul. “We are not married yet. A gentleman would not ask me such a thing.”

His face hardened. “I’m well aware that in your eyes at least, I am not a gentleman. I should wonder why you would even accept my proposal if you find my manners so repugnant.”

Margaret had nothing to say to that. She had deeply offended him, her now intended. But perhaps he would retract his proposal. She could barely hope to wish for such a thing. 

“I have given you my consent towards the matter. That should be enough for you.” 

The bitterness in her voice floored him. He could tell, he could so easily see this was not what she wanted. But he did not take his proposal back. 

He simply said, “I will speak to your father. My mother will call on you to help with arrangements.”

And with that, he exited her parlor like a brisk winter wind.

As soon as she heard the door shut, Margaret crumpled to the floor in tears.


	2. Chapter 2

Dixon was weeping. She made a valiant effort to cover it up, blaming her streaming eyes on the onions they were chopping for dinner; dust getting in her eyes (couldn’t Margaret sweep properly for once?), the smoky Milton air irritating her throat. But ever since Margaret had dully announced to her family at tea that she had accepted John Thornton’s proposal, Dixon had been in tears. 

Her mother was elated. She knew Margaret was not happy about the news and she did her best not to seem too thrilled, but her relief that her daughter would be well taken care of—that Margaret would finally have someone reliable to depend on—it cleared her concerns almost instantly. Maria Hale had married for love and up till this point, she had thought this a worthy and noble course. But perhaps it would have been better after all if she had married out of duty to her parents. If she had made the practical choice, she would be home in the south. In any case, she believed that Margaret could learn to love Mr. Thornton. It was what most couples did after all. 

Margaret’s father was surprised. Mr. Thornton had spoken to him almost immediately and Richard Hale had quite bewilderedly agreed to the match. But he had thought that his favorite pupil and daughter did not care for each other. Margaret had offended Mr. Thornton more than once and Mr. Thornton’s northern brashness, his—er—firmness with his workers disgusted Margaret. 

But Richard did not worry over much for it. They were young, after all. Who could predict these things? Perhaps Margaret’s tender influence would encourage Mr. Thornton to pursue mercy. And she would be well taken care of. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of the match. 

And as Mr. Thornton predicted, his mother soon came to call on Margaret and her mother to discuss arrangements. 

Hannah Thornton was as cold about arrangements as Margaret was in her acceptance. Despite her reluctance towards the match and her dislike for the uppity Margaret, she badly desired her son’s happiness. And when John returned home in a black mood, she had at first thought that the little fool had rejected her son. But it was not so. Margaret had accepted him. John still needed to discuss the matter with her father, but the engagement was as good as set. Still, Hannah could not fathom why Margaret’s consent to marriage had put her son in such a foul mood.

When she broached the subject, he looked at her distantly and said, “She does not want me.”

Hannah had scoffed. “A woman does not accept a man unless she wants him on some level. Perhaps her southern airs have caused her reluctance towards the match.”

Her son had murmured, “I know I am not good enough for her.” Which only strengthened Hannah’s resolve to break that girl’s pride by whatever means necessary. Margaret must want her son as a husband but her foolish pride made her ashamed of the match. 

“The worst of it is,” John had knelt by his mother’s side. “I love her more than ever.”

Hannah’s lip stiffened as she clasped her son’s face. “I hate her. But if she will make you happy…I will try my best not to. We will show her you are worthy of her. We’ll make her wonder if she is worthy of you.”

Her son’s expression was doubtful. But it did not matter. 

Margaret’s mother seemed far more thrilled about the match than Margaret herself. Her future daughter-in-law said barely a few words to anyone, save for offering cream and sugar. 

“I think an afternoon wedding would be best,” Hannah somewhat ordered. “With an evening reception. It’s a bit unusual, but I don’t think we’ve time for a wedding breakfast, what with the strike. If it takes place in the evening, John can work the next day.”

Maria Hale blinked a little. “I thought perhaps John might like to take her away for a trip after the wedding. The seaside perhaps, or the lakes…”

“He wants to,” Hannah assured her crisply. “But now is not a good time. It’s not a good time for a wedding either, to be frank. My dinner party was supposed to be the last great expense for a while. But it would be best to get the wedding underway as soon as possible. Not let those strikers believe they’ve interfered in our lives.” 

Margaret stared listlessly at her teacup. Her apathy annoyed Hannah deeply. 

“My wedding dress might fit Margaret very well,” Maria said eagerly. “It is a lovely shade of lavender. I think it would do very nicely—”

“Oh, no!” Fanny broke in, her eyes wide in horror. (Despite Fanny’s less than savory comments about Margaret Hale, she insisted on coming with her mother to help plan the wedding—Hannah suspected it was a trial run for her own matrimonial hopes.)

“Lavender isn’t in season at all,” Fanny continued. “No, white is much more appropriate. White lace or satin. It might make Margaret’s skin a bit sallow (she has such an unfortunate coloring) but it would be the latest thing. I must insist on white.” 

Hannah looked towards Margaret with increasing dislike. “What is your preference?”

Her voice seemed to snap Margaret out of her miserable reverie. “What? Lavender will do. White is very expensive.”

Hannah struggled to keep her temper. “And you think we cannot afford it? You’ll be married in white.”

“Oh, Mrs. Thornton, she did not mean that,” Maria tried to keep the peace. “We are used to—to frugality, especially as of late. Margaret would be quite happy to wear white, if you think that more appropriate.”

Hannah eyed Margaret’s mother critically and felt a small stab of sympathy. She wanted so much to be a part of the wedding, but her health would not give her much leave. She exhaled deeply.

“Show me your old wedding dress. I think it would be fitting to match the style, if not the color. I’ll have the dressmaker come tomorrow to make measurements.”

“Oh, mother, her wedding dress is sure to be twenty years out of fashion—” Fanny protested.

“That’s enough,” Hannah said sharply. “You’ll have your own time to pick and choose wedding dresses and patterns. Mrs. Hale, I think it best we discuss dates.”

She looked towards Margaret, to see if she had any further input towards dress patterns or banquet preparations. But as usual, Margaret said nothing. 

Very well. Hannah would plan this herself.

****

Mrs. Thornton did not believe in long engagements. She thought them vulgar; if two people were to be married, then they should be married without further delay. What’s more, it seemed she was eager to get the wedding over with so it would be out of her hands and out of her mind as soon as possible.

Margaret did not care. She had placed all of her feelings about the wedding and impending marriage in a small airtight compartment inside her heart. She wouldn’t look at it, she wouldn’t touch it, and in time, perhaps they would suffocate for lack of air. She said nothing when the dressmaker took her measurements and drew a copy of her mother’s lavender wedding dress. She gave no opinion towards the food, the music, the dresses of her bridesmaid, or her mother’s gown. (It would be black, as was traditional.) Margaret was as silent as a stone. Her dreams of waking up on a fine Sunday morning and walking to her father’s church seemed as far away as their cottage in Helstone. It no longer mattered. That Margaret Hale was gone.

Except in one case. Ordinarily, her cousin Edith would be her bridesmaid. Edith was more than willing to travel to Milton for the ceremony, but she had just found out she was expecting. She experienced terrible nausea at all hours of the day and did not think she could last through a long carriage ride. Her husband was quite against the journey and Edith was forced to agree with him, though she deeply regretted not being able to attend. This left Margaret bridesmaid-less.

Seeing Edith had been the one bright spot of the wedding and now it would be dashed away. Her mother suggested that Fanny be her bridesmaid but Margaret refused this pointblank. 

She wasn’t entirely sure who she would choose until Mr. Thornton called on her again. 

It was another unlucky day where her father was teaching and her mother was feeling too ill for company. Margaret did not want to be alone with her intended before she had to be and she felt irritated at him for violating the last few days of her freedom. 

She frostily served him tea, which he accepted. She refused to engage him in conversation and pointedly looked out the window. A nasty part of her wondered if she were icy enough, perhaps he might take back his proposal. 

“I’ve brought you a wedding present.”

Margaret turned towards him, her expression revealing nothing. She almost felt sympathy for him. It was so blatantly evident that she did not want to marry him and yet he still was here, trying to win any kind of warmth from her. 

“I am want for nothing, Mr. Thornton.”

His lips pressed into a firm line. “It is traditional for a groom to give his bride a wedding present. We are not so out of touch in the north to forget that, Miss Hale.”

It was perfectly reasonable for him to give her a wedding present. Her cousin Edith’s husband had gifted her with a strand of beautiful pearls as well as a gorgeous ruby ring. But accepting anything from him seemed almost illicit. 

“It is not necessary,” She retorted. She clutched her teacup so hard, her fingers turned white. 

“It is necessary and it has already been purchased,” He snapped. 

He very nearly shoved two small velvet boxes towards her. She pursed her lips and opened the first box. 

Her wedding ring. She could not help but acknowledge to herself that it was beautiful. A rose-cut sapphire, inset with pearls, with a silver band. She leaned to examine the ring more closely.   
To her surprise, there were tiny silver snakes holding the sapphire in place. The queen had an engagement ring of a similar style. Snakes were supposed to be emblems of true love…but she could not forget her own Christian upbringing. Snakes were also symbols of deceit. 

All in all, it was an appropriate ring. 

She fitted it to her finger and was surprised to see it fit perfectly. She wondered vaguely how he had gotten her ring size. 

“It is beautiful,” She said flatly. 

He watched her. “I can have it resized if—”

“There is no need,” Margaret held up her hand to show him. “You see?”

To her surprise, he took her small hand and inspected it carefully. Something unfamiliar rose up in her chest and she tried not to let whatever-it-was show on her face. It occurred to her that her hand looked very small next to his large palms. 

She gave her fiancé a brief moment to ensure the ring fit before pulling her hand back. 

His face seemed quite bleak as he nodded towards the second box. She withheld a sigh and opened it.

It was a cameo. It was carved from the brightest coral Margaret had ever seen. The carving was delicate and intricate, with gilded flowers and jewels etched all around the woman. She leaned in closer—yes. She recognized the figure on the cameo. Persephone, goddess of spring.

“How appropriate,” She murmured.

Mr. Thornton raised his eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“The goddess of spring,” Margaret showed him, as though he weren’t aware. “Persephone.”

His eyes narrowed at the cameo. “I had thought her a nymph.”

“No,” She said clearly. “She’s holding a pomegranate. Over her right shoulder is the sun, her left the snowy clouds. She was forced to marry Hades, the god of death, taken to his underground palace, separated from her mother.”

“I know the myth,” Mr. Thornton said shortly. 

The symbolism was a little too stark—an innocent maiden forced to marry a cold, dark god in the bleak underworld. Hades showered his tearful bride with all of the riches the earth provided, but the only thing Persephone desired was sunlight and her mother’s love. 

She closed the box. “It’s lovely. Thank you. It will go well with my dress.” 

He exhaled sharply and she realized in surprise that he had been holding his breath. Her reaction to the gifts had meant something to him, for whatever reason. 

“Is your cousin Edith feeling any better?” Mr. Thornton asked, his hands twisting his gloves. “Will she be able to make the ceremony?”

Margaret shook her head. In a flash, wicked inspiration struck and she looked at Mr. Thornton quite coolly.

“Since Edith cannot, I have asked Bessie Higgins to be my bridesmaid.”

Mr. Thornton looked as though he swallowed a lemon. Margaret reveled in the dark satisfaction of his irritation but kept her expression perfectly polite and reasonable. 

“Do you think…that would be…appropriate?” He ground out a little. Margaret feigned surprise.

“Bessie has nothing to do with her father’s actions,” She replied. “She is her own woman. And my good friend. She’s been feeling better lately and I think the wedding would do her good.” 

A white lie. She hadn’t precisely told Bessie that she was marrying John Thornton but given her friend’s sense of humor, she felt certain Bessie would agree immediately.

“Are you trying to humiliate me?” Mr. Thornton growled. “Make my family look ridiculous?”

“I am marrying into your family, Mr. Thornton, it would hardly do me any good to try and mortify you,” Margaret snapped. “Bessie is my one friend in Milton, a true and loyal friend who would like to celebrate my wedding. Is that so loathsome to you? You can shower me with trinkets but you cannot abide my dear friend’s presence?”

The rage on his face was palpable and Margaret was thrilled. She had dulled every single emotion towards her marriage for fear of utterly falling apart, but enraging her fiancé at least gave her some sense of control over her life. But her outlandish demand that Bessie attend as her bridesmaid did not dissuade him from marrying her. He took a deep breath and nodded curly.

“Very well. If she requires something to wear, we’ll purchase her something. God knows her father isn’t able to.” His voice was terse and the cruel reminder of how the strike was starving the workers of Milton cut Margaret deeply. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snarling back.

“Thank you for the gifts.” Her statement was a clear dismissal—but unnecessary. Mr. Thornton had already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments--please keep letting me know what you think. I'm having such a fun time with this fic. 
> 
> I also can't believe I didn't realize that North and South took place during the Victorian era, which I know little to nothing about. Who knew? (People who pay attention, that's who!) Anyway, Greek and Roman mythology had a resurgence during the Victorian era so hello Greek mythology parallels. Also, white wedding dresses came into fashion because of Queen Victoria--isn't that interesting?


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, Bessie, please stop laughing,” Margaret pleaded. “You’ll set yourself into a coughing fit.”

Bessie wiped her streaming eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just—the idea of you marrying Mr. Thornton…”

“I told you,” Margaret said, quite nettled. “I didn’t have much of a choice. I promised my mother.”

It was one of Bessie’s better days. They were actually able to sit at the table and drink tea together, which seemed to ease her friend’s cough. Margaret had brought some honey Edith had sent from London, which also helped. 

“The idea,” Bessie let out a strangled cough and grimaced in an attempt to keep the fit from overtaking her. “Mrs. John Thornton—have you told my father? He’ll get a kick out of that, to be sure.”

“Not yet,” Margaret said gloomily. “That assumes he’ll ever forgive me. He trusted me, after all, and now here I am marrying—”

“He’ll still trust you,” Bessie said soothingly. “If anyone understands the importance of your word, it’s my father. Who knows? Perhaps you can get him to sympathize with the strikers.”

“I doubt I have any such power,” Margaret snorted. “I don’t even know why he—well, it doesn’t matter. But that leads me to another issue…I find myself in need of a bridesmaid. I was hoping you might oblige me.”

Bessie stared. “Me?”

“Of course you,” Margaret smoothed a stray lock from Bessie’s face. “You are my closest friend here. I know you haven’t been feeling well as of late, but I thought this…this at least might make you feel a little better.”

Her friend squinted a little bit. “Does your fiancé know about these arrangements?”

“I told him yesterday,” Margaret said crisply. 

Bessie sniggered. “I’ll bet he loved that.”

“I’ll admit a certain satisfaction when I told him of my intentions,” Margaret smiled darkly. “But of course…well, I wouldn’t put you through such an ordeal if you didn’t want to. His mother will be a royal terror and I wouldn’t ask any of my friends to endure her.”

“Oh, don’t be daft,” Bessie stretched a little. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve even got a dress to wear—me mum’s wedding dress will do just fine. Lovely plum color, it is. She was going to be buried in it but she changed her mind at the last minute and said ‘give it to Bessie, she’ll get more use out of it than my old bones’. And here we see she was right.”

“That will do just fine,” Margaret hugged her friend. A small relief. Bessie would never agree to the Thornton’s supplying her with a fine gown. Her pride in her father would never allow such a thing. 

“But let me ask you this,” Bessie took a large swallow of tea. “Can you really do this? Marry John Thornton? Spend your life with him, your mornings and afternoons, share your—well—share your bed with someone you despise so much?”

Her words cut Margaret like a knife. There it was, all of Margaret’s future she had spent so much time trying to block out of her head. Her face crumpled and for a horrible moment, she almost lost control. But she took a deep breath and regained her composure quickly.

“I’ll manage,” Margaret closed her eyes. “I—I don’t know how exactly. But I will.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow. “With all of it? Living with him day to day? Giving him children?”

Margaret winced. She had been especially avoiding thinking of that aspect of married life. Mr. Thornton was an unpleasant, prideful man, but he had a bent of honor in his soul. Surely…surely he would not force her. Marital relations could be delayed, perhaps forever. Plenty of married couples never had children; simply remained in companionable partnership. Perhaps she and Mr. Thornton could be one of them. 

But then again…his horror of a mother probably wouldn’t stand for that. She was only grateful that her fiancé had no grand titles and therefore the only pressure for an heir would be from family. She had no doubt Hannah Thornton would do her part on that front. 

“It won’t be so bad,” Margaret said decisively. “Perhaps your father is right, perhaps I can help engender some sympathy for the strikers. I’ll certainly do my best. At any rate, a wedding party might do you good. We’re thumbing tradition a bit; there will be no wedding breakfast. Instead, Mrs. Thornton has decided on an evening reception after the ceremony. There will be dancing and good food…”

Bessie’s eyes shone as Margaret rattled off Mrs. Thornton’s careful preparations. Bessie’s excitement for the wedding almost put Margaret in a good humor for the whole event.

Almost. 

****

On her return from the Higgins house, Margaret was interrupted from her dismal thoughts by a cheerful call. 

“Margaret! Over here!”

It was Mr. Bell, one of her father’s oldest and dearest friends. He waved her over in his careless manner, but with the same sort of confidence that brooked no argument. But with a lurch, she quickly realized her fiancé was with him.

Mr. Thornton looked particularly imposing next to the carefree Mr. Bell but at Margaret’s approach, he seemed to revert to that strange sort of nervousness that so discomfited her. He tipped his hat to her and she swallowed, trying to keep her cheeks from warming.

“Well, look at this! What luck! Two of the prettiest girls in Milton,” Mr. Bell rapidly introduced her to the Lattimer patriarch and his daughter, who both smiled at her benignly. “I was just offering my congratulations to Mr. Thornton on your impending marriage. I must say, I am delighted at the match.”

She thought perhaps he might be teasing her, but Mr. Bell’s expression was perfectly serious. She managed a noncommittal nod.

“Please, let me offer you my congratulations,” Anne Lattimer said pleasantly to her. “We’re quite looking forward to your wedding. It seems to be the event of the season!”

Both Margaret and Mr. Thornton winced in almost an almost identical manner. Mr. Bell noticed immediately and gave a wry chuckle. 

“Birds of a feather, these two,” He said warmly. “No doubt a quick simple ceremony would have suited them both. Perhaps a long engagement to go along with it. But it can’t be helped. Weddings aren’t about the bride and groom after all, they’re simply for the mother-in-laws’ enjoyment.”

Margaret internally cursed Mr. Bell’s sharpness, which seemed to miss nothing. 

“It is a great deal of effort and expense for a single day,” Mr. Lattimer offered. “It doesn’t surprise me that these two lovebirds are weary from it all.”

She couldn’t help it, she physically cringed at the endearment and guiltily shot a look at Mr. Thornton. To her relief, her fiancé didn’t seem particularly thrilled with the moniker either. His eyes flicked from the group towards his own path, as though he were eager to escape the awkward entanglement. 

“Well, we shan’t keep you,” Mr. Bell said airily as he nodded at them both. “I shall see you both at your nuptials. I promise to bring good wine and a decent gift—no spoon collections or anything of the like, something to be enjoyed by you both. Good day!”

He swanned off with the Lattimers in tow and in a brief moment of horror, Margaret realized that he’d left her alone with Mr. Thornton. 

There was a brief pause. Her fiancé cleared his throat.

“May I…escort you to wherever you are headed?” 

She didn’t have a single reason as to why he could not except her own contrary nature. So she nodded jerkily and the two of them walked on towards her home. 

It was a quiet walk for the most part, neither one of them saying anything, whether out of Mr. Thornton’s shyness or Margaret’s irritation, no one could say. But after a block or so of this quiet, she decided to break it.

“Bessie has agreed to be my bridesmaid. She is very much looking forward to it.”

He looked at her strangely with open irritation, but did not respond to this jibe. Instead, he changed the subject. “Is there anything you need prior to the wedding?”

She shook her hand. “Your mother has it well in hand.”

“Nevertheless, it is your wedding, not my mother’s or my sister’s. I would that it be pleasant for you.”

The only thing that would make it pleasant would be to call the entire charade off. But of course, Margaret could not say that. She chose her reply carefully. 

“I have everything I could need and am entirely prepared for the event.”

She made it sound like a business lecture rather than her own wedding. Mr. Thornton exhaled in what sounded like frustration, so Margaret decided she ought to make a better attempt at civility.

“Is there anything you need, Mr. Thornton?”

They’d arrived at her doorstep. The question seemed to surprise her fiancé and he thought for a moment.

“Would you start calling me John?”

The request seemed to Margaret as impertinent as the last time he’d asked, shortly after she accepted his wretched proposal. 

She exhaled slowly. What was the harm? What did it matter? She would be married to him soon enough and then it would be considered odd that she wouldn’t call him by his Christian name. But as she stared at his hopeful eyes, something akin to spitefulness welled up inside her. No. No. She would hold onto whatever dignity she had left in this dreadful situation. She would not encourage intimacy with John Thornton before she had to.

“We are not married yet, Mr. Thornton,” Margaret said coldly and turned away from him, walking up the steps to her home. She could not resist a glance over her shoulder and felt wicked satisfaction at his blackened expression.

****

“Please say I did the right thing, Father.”

Her father said nothing to this, simply stared at the table before them. The fear and sadness in his gaze was almost too much for Margaret to bear. She had admitted to him that she’d written to Frederick—shortly after she’d accepted Mr. Thornton’s proposal, as a matter of fact. It was not as though she expected him to attend her wedding; God knows, he’d have to be in hiding the entire time he was in Milton. But her mother grew more ill every day and Margaret worried. Her sweet, sensitive brother would never be able to live with himself if his mother died while he was abroad. 

Her father explained gently that even after so many years, the Royal Navy still had a bounty on Frederick’s head. No matter the reason, no matter how justified, Frederick had conspired against his superior officer. He was not safe in England and never would be. Ships still hunted for mutineers and her father said gravely that nothing but blood would satisfy.

“But he’s innocent!” Margaret cried. “Surely there is justice!” 

Her father shook his head. “No, Margaret. You should not have written. He will try and come and then…” Inspiration seemed to strike. “Wait. Wait a moment. Perhaps…”

“What? What is it?”

“Perhaps your fiancé can help.”

Margaret visibly flinched. It was an obvious solution. No one had more power in Milton and it was likely in Mr. Thornton’s business dealings he could have made a connection to sway someone to drop the charges against her brother. But she felt a violent repulsion towards the idea, towards owing John Thornton anything. He already owned her now, she couldn’t…

I don’t want to possess you, I want to marry you because I love you!

His words broke through these uncharitable thoughts. What on earth could he have meant? Love her? He barely knew her! But there was a deep-seated feeling in Margaret that knew, if she did come to Mr. Thornton…if she explained to him about her brother…he would help her. And wasn’t that worth it?

“You acted from the heart,” Her father broke into her thoughts. “And perhaps…perhaps the letter will never reach Frederick. He does move often, in order to escape suspicion. But surely…surely we have an ally in my future son-in-law. We can trust to that at least.”

The hope in his eyes was too great to break. So Margaret nodded. She would not tell her future husband about Frederick, not yet at least. Not if she didn’t have to. She would hope and pray that her rash letter would miss her brother’s hands.

****

At 1:00PM the following Sunday, Margaret Hale was ready.

The dress was beautiful. Even in all of her dour feelings about the ceremony, she could not deny the dress was stunning. The bodice was fitted, with a deep and blooming skirt, including one of the ridiculous hoopskirts she’d once mocked Fanny for. The veil flowed down to her ankles, perched upon a wreath of orange blossoms and myrtle. The dress was made of Honitan lace, an extravagance Margaret could scarcely dream of. But even Fanny had to admit it set off her pale skin beautifully and the dress, as a whole, made her look positively royal. 

There was a soft knock at the door. Margaret called them in and Bessie, clad in a deep purple gown, proudly strode into the room.

“Oh, miss,” Her eyes widened as she took in Margaret’s appearance. “How beautiful you look.”

“Look at you!” Margaret side-swept the compliment. “That dress is so gorgeous, Bessie. I’ve never seen your cheeks so rosy.”

It was true, Bessie’s face was pleasingly flushed. So much so, that Margaret instinctively rose her hand to feel her forehead for fever. But Bessie dodged the outstretched palm with a smile.

“Not to worry, miss,” She winked at Margaret cheerfully. “I’m just excited. I’ve been looking forward to this all week and there’s not a thing on God’s green earth that would keep me from coming to your wedding.”

“But Bessie—” Margaret began.

“Shush,” Her friend commanded. “Not another word. And no fussing about me, wondering if I’m tired or any of that rot. You just enjoy your wedding and let me enjoy it too.”

Bessie’s breathing was labored as she made this pronouncement. But it would do no good for Margaret to outwardly worry for her friend. If she did, she ran the risk of ruining something incredibly special that Bessie would perhaps never again get to experience. And Margaret could not do that to her, no matter how deep ber concern. 

“My,” Bessie noticed the cameo around Margaret’s neck. “A present from your dearly beloved?”

“Oh, don’t,” Margaret closed her eyes. “Don’t tease. Yes, it’s from Mr. Thornton. He expects me to wear it. I could do without it, as I’m sure you know.” 

“Well, it is lovely,” Bessie fingered its edges. “You ought to appreciate that, at least. You’re pretty as a picture, miss. I’d be surprised if his legs don’t give over the moment he sees you.”

Margaret smiled tightly. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll remain standing. His mother’s disapproval will help bolster his posture, if anything else. She had quite a bit to say about my hair, my décolletage, my—”

“Oh, never mind her,” Bessie waved this away. “I don’t care for Mr. Thornton meself, but I do have eyes. I’ve seen how he looks at you. And I tell you, I’ll be impressed if he manages to stammer out his vows.”

Margaret smiled. “You’re sweet. But I suppose we better get this over with. No sense in delaying the inevitable.”

As if on cue, there was another knock at the door. Without waiting for a reply, Hannah Thornton opened it and gazed at the two women critically.

“Come along,” She jerked her head to follow them. “Let’s get started.”

****

The wedding was uneventful. Truth be told, if someone were to ask Margaret for her most vibrant memories of the event, she’d have trouble coming up with anything. 

It was as though the entire wedding took place outside of her body, as if she were floating above the whole ceremony, like some sort of absurd ghost. She saw herself walking down the aisle, clinging to her father’s arm. She watched herself take Mr. Thornton’s arm in front of the congregation, observed her mother’s tears, Mrs. Thornton’s skeptical gaze, and Bessie’s captivated eyes. 

She watched herself—this other Margaret she didn’t recognize—mouth vows she did not mean. She made promises she could not keep to Mr. Thornton, and watched him bind himself to her. Love, serve, honor…obey. Who was this strange woman making promises for her? 

But when Mr. Thornton kissed her forehead, softly, chastely—Margaret returned to her body. She was no longer Margaret Hale, she was Margaret Thornton. John Thornton’s wife. And there was nothing she could do about it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, my loves! I appreciate your patience--PLEASE have faith in me. Your positive comments keep me going and inspire my writing.
> 
> And just think...next chapter is the WEDDING NIGHT.


	4. Chapter 4

Margaret did not dance with her new husband. 

Mr. Thornton did not ask her, perhaps to save them both from the embarrassment of the wedding guests—he seemed to suspect she would reject him outright. Truth be told, Margaret didn’t know what she would say. It had been easy to stand up to him as an unmarried woman, but what could she do as a wife, who swore to honor and obey?

At least Bessie was having a good time. She danced enough for both Margaret and Mr. Thornton, though she took long breaks between each set to stave off her coughing fits. But her friend was determined not to let her illness get the best of her and to thoroughly enjoy the party. Margaret was grateful that she could give Bessie this. 

She did not eat much of her wedding banquet, though the food looked delicious. But if she took a bite, she knew it would turn to ash in her mouth. Instead, she sipped the wine to her right of her plate—her first glass of wine, as it happened. Her father never approved of spirits but Margaret thought after this unhappy affair, she was entitled to this. Her husband’s glass of wine remained full; he did not touch it.

The wine burned in her belly in a strangely pleasant manner. It fuzzed up her head and dulled her despairing feelings. When Mr. Thornton stood to speak to another guest at the banquet, Margaret took his full glass of wine and poured it into her own glass. 

When he returned to his place at the table, he raised a dark brow at his empty glass but said nothing. She thought for sure he would say something, perhaps chastise her. 

But instead he said, “Your friend seems to be enjoying herself.”

Margaret smiled towards Bessie, who was talking animatedly with a very bemused gentleman. “She is. She’s had a difficult time of it. It’s good to see her laugh again.”

Mr. Thornton said nothing to this. A significant part of Bessie’s difficulties were due to her father’s strike and Mr. Thornton’s stubbornness. 

Margaret decided to relieve this tension. “She has been ill. I wasn’t even sure she could attend the wedding, but she was quite determined. Doesn’t she look lovely?”

He regarded Bessie critically. Bessie’s purple dress was nowhere near as fine as any of the ladies’ gowns, but no one could compare to the joy in her eyes. Mr. Thornton looked at her, almost sadly. 

Perhaps, Margaret thought. He wishes I was as happy as she is.

She rather agreed. How different this night would be if she loved the man she was to marry! She had always imagined her wedding to be filled with light and laughter. Though truth be told, she hadn’t thought of marrying for a long time. She had spent so much time away from her parents, before Edith’s wedding, the only thing in her mind was living with them as a family again. 

But now she had a new family. Till death do us part. She had said the words not so long ago. And she meant them, however gloomy she felt. She would need to learn how to live in this family. She must come to some sort of truce with her husband. 

“Your mother,” Margaret cleared her throat, “did a lovely job. The flower arrangements are…immaculate. And the music is captivating.”

“I am glad you appreciate it,” Mr. Thornton said quietly. “She worked very hard with not much notice.”

Margaret tilted her head. “She said she wanted an afternoon ceremony so you could work the next day. Will you really go back to work tomorrow morning?”

It was…something of a scandalous question. She could tell it certainly shocked her new husband. But the wine had loosened her reserve. She did not care what he thought of her. 

“I…intended to do so,” Mr. Thornton said slowly. “Would you prefer…otherwise?”

Margaret did not answer. She did not know what she preferred. She didn’t even know why she asked such a question. 

She nearly jumped a foot out of her seat when Mr. Thornton laid a tentative hand on her palm. 

“When the strike is over,” His voice was very quiet. “I had thought of taking you to Greece. Would you…like that?”

Greece? Margaret’s heart sang at the thought. The land where all her favorite stories came from, a place she daydreamed about as a young girl. Her hand floated to the cameo at her throat. Perhaps it was a black joke—after her explanation of the Persephone cameo. But Margaret didn’t care. To leave Milton…to return to the sunshine, to walk among the ancient ruins, to smell the sea air…

She could not keep the smile from her face and Mr. Thornton mirrored the expression. It was so strange, to see his smile. It lightened the angles in his face and made his whole affect softer. 

****

When the reception was over, the guests milled out of the Thornton house at their leisure. Margaret had barely touched her food, save a few grapes here and there, and the wine had made her quite dizzy. Bessie noticed this especially as she made her goodbyes. 

“Enjoyed that wine, did you?” She grinned. “Your eyes look like me da’s when he’s been to the pub for too long.”

Margaret grimaced in embarrassment and Bessie kissed her cheek.

“Not to worry,” She winked impishly. “I won’t tell anyone. Besides, a bride has a right to a libation on her wedding night.”

“Bessie!”

Her friend embraced her. “Thank you for inviting me. And letting me be a part of this. It felt like a dream. I’ll never forget it, for the rest of my life.”

There was a sadness in Bessie’s eyes, as though she did not expect the rest of her life to be very long. But Margaret pushed the thought away, determinedly believing that Bessie would live a long and happy life and attend many more balls and dances…

She sent Bessie home in one of her husband’s carriages, to make sure she was warm enough. As she watched the carriage disappear down the road, she turned towards the rest of her guests.  
Margaret’s mother kissed and hugged her tightly, whispering words of encouragement and love. Her father embraced her too, pride and simple happiness shining in his eyes, utterly unaware of her misery. But before her parents left for the night, her mother took her arm.

“Margaret, my dear…” Her mother’s voice was low in her ear. “Tonight—do you have any—do you wish to speak with me? Privately?”

Margaret blinked a little in confusion. “Is there something you need?”

Maria Hale shook her head. “No, my dear…but I was wondering…if you have any—concerns or reservations.”

Margaret stared at her, completely lost.

Her mother tried again. “I mean—in regards to---well, to marital relations—”

“Oh!” Margaret went crimson. “Oh, no mother. That is not necessary, I assure you.”

Maria looked nothing short of relieved. Margaret hadn’t lied, thank goodness. Her father was fond of Greek plays and his collection had amused his daughter during the rainy days at Halstone. Some of the texts, however, were probably inappropriate for a young woman of Margaret’s age to read, but her father’s absentminded temperament had not considered this when he lent them out. His mind was on the tragedy of Antigone, not the bawdiness of Lysistrata. 

“I am sure,” Maria took another deep breath. “I am sure he will be kind to you.”

Margaret desperately wanted to leave the subject. “I will come visit you soon, Mother, I promise. This weekend, even.”

Her mother hugged her one last time. Her father waved merrily, utterly oblivious towards their quick conversation, and Margaret watched them leave the Thornton house. Her heart ached painfully in the knowledge that she would not be returning home with them. Home. This was her home now, and the knowledge of this oppressed her.

“Margaret.”

She turned to see her new mother-in-law staring at her with slight disapproval. Hannah’s lips were pursed, as though anticipating something unpleasant.

“John is sharing a cigar with a few of the other men,” She told her. “Come into the parlor and have a cup of coffee with me before bed.”

This was not a request. Margaret tried to temper her sigh and nodded to her mother-in-law. She followed her into the small room and was surprised to see Hannah shut the door firmly. Any servants would have to knock before entering. But the coffee cart was already prepared and Hannah nodded for her to sit down. 

Margaret took a seat. Her mother-in-law dug into a basket and pulled out some dining linens with initials on the corners. J.T. and M.T.

Comprehension dawned. Hannah had added Margaret’s initials to the household linens. It was a small, but nonetheless significant symbol of being welcomed into the family. 

“They’re lovely,” Margaret swallowed. “Thank you.”

“I hope you understand the importance that comes with being a Thornton,” Hannah cleared her throat. “Milton looks up to us. We are something of caretakers to the town and we take that responsibility very seriously.”

Caretakers…or masters? Margaret rebelliously thought that if they were truly caretakers, then the mill workers would not be striking.

“You are now Margaret Thornton,” Hannah said clearly and Margaret pursed her lips. As if she didn’t know!

“This comes with a great deal of responsibility,” Her mother-in-law continued and poured her a cup of coffee. “I hope you understand that.”

Margaret shook her head. “Please, no coffee. I’ll take tea, if you have it. I shan’t be able to sleep tonight if I have coffee.”

“You shouldn’t be sleeping tonight.”

The meaning of her mother-in-law’s words registered and Margaret gasped at the frankness. Hannah rolled her eyes a little at Margaret’s pink cheeks.

“Don’t be so shocked,” Hannah edged the coffee towards her. “This is part of your responsibility as a Thornton. I don’t trust your mother to inform you of your duties properly.”

“Mrs. Thornton,” Margaret’s voice quivered. “This isn’t entirely—I mean—”

“You are now Mrs. Thornton,” Hannah sighed at the thought. “You may refer to me as Hannah now. We will be living together for a long time, Margaret, we might as well get used to each other.”

“I don’t—I don’t feel comfortable speaking of this,” Margaret felt as though she were swallowing nails. “And I don’t think Mr. Thornton would appreciate it either.”

“He would be very cross,” Hannah acknowledged. “But I don’t care. It’s important for me to impress upon your duties as a wife—and as a mother, when the time comes.”

“That—that may be a long while yet!” Margaret squeaked.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Hannah said airily. “This is why we’re speaking of it now.” 

There was a quiet knock at the doorway and Hannah sighed at the interruption. But it seemed she recognized the firm knock and so she allowed the intruder’s entry. Sure enough, it was Margaret’s new husband, his brow raised curiously at the private conference. 

“Just having a nightcap,” Hannah raised her cup. “Your wife is quite tired. I’m about to escort her to bed.”

Mr. Thornton nodded slowly, taking in his bride’s pink cheeks and untouched coffee. His own face flushed and Margaret burned with embarrassment at what he must be thinking. 

“Mother—” He started to say.

“She is tired,” Hannah interrupted. “To bed with her. Come along, Margaret.”

She stood quickly, eager to be out of the room. Hannah strode out of the parlor, with her daughter-in-law on her heels. 

****

Margaret did not like John Thornton’s chambers.

She had eschewed Hannah’s brusque offer to help her disrobe, too afraid she’d try to continue the humiliating conversation below. She pleaded tiredness and Mr. Thornton’s mother was only too happy to leave the bedroom. And so Margaret changed alone, into a white virginal nightgown that was high collared and fell down to her ankles. It was the same nightgown she wore every night, but tonight its significance felt even more potent. 

She had abstained from the coffee, and the wine was still fuzzing her brain. Thank goodness her mother-in-law hadn’t noticed; she doubted she would hear the end of it. But even her slightly addled state, she could not help but purse her lips at the stark barrenness of the room. There were no portraits, very little furnishings, and an almost utilitarian ugliness to the room that made Margaret recoil. The room could do with some curtains, the blazing sun would immediately wake her at sunrise—but perhaps that was intentional. Mr. Thornton did not strike her as someone who slept in. 

Margaret continued to observe the room critically. Curtains, certainly, but a fresh coat of paint would do the room good. Fresh flowers, too—even in the drab Milton, she was always able to find fresh wildflowers to brighten her mother’s parlor. And later on, her sickbed. She would do the same here.

There was a bookshelf across the room too. Margaret wandered over to inspect its offerings. Plato, Socrates, Shakespeare…she was not surprised to see her father’s favorites. She snorted when she saw Greek plays as well. She was surprised that her new husband read such debauchery. 

The bookshelf did not contain any of her beloved novels. This did not wholly surprise Margaret as she could not picture Mr. Thornton reading them. It made her a little sad though—how often she’d enjoyed curling up on a rainy morning with a novel! Her father would gently tease her for her taste. But novels were far more enjoyable than Plato, and she would not apologize for that—

A soft knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She turned towards the door and said nothing.

The door opened and her new husband stepped inside. 

Margaret inspected him critically. He looked quite pale and nervous, which deeply annoyed her. What did he have to be nervous about? She was the new bride, it was her right to be nervous and terrified. 

“You don’t have to knock,” She informed him coldly. “It is your room. You should enter and leave at your will.”

“It is your room now as well.”

Margaret gasped a little at this. She had thought that after tonight she would have her own room. Her own parents shared a room, but they did not have the economies for anything else. (Though lately, her father had taken to sleeping in his study so as not to disturb his ailing wife.) But surely Mr. Thornton could afford…

Her new husband looked askance. “My mother has not yet given up the lady’s chambers. It may take some…persuasion.”

She exhaled in annoyance. Of course. Likely Hannah Thornton would give up her room when the trumpets heralded the end of days. Or perhaps when Margaret conceived, as a reward for completing her “wifely duties”. She pursed her lips in displeasure. Mr. Thornton ought to have ordered his mother out. Margaret was now the lady of the house, not Hannah…

That was neither here nor there. Something to deal with tomorrow, perhaps. She had to focus on the matter at hand. 

“Your room is quite sparse,” She told him baldly. “Cheerless, almost.” 

Mr. Thornton tilted his head. “You are…now my wife. You may change anything in the house to suit you.”

She resisted an unladylike snort. Hell would freeze over before Hannah Thornton allowed Margaret to change the furnishings…but Margaret could not abide being in such a dreary room. His mother wasn’t the one sleeping here, she was.

“I should like to paint,” She replied. “Perhaps some new wallpaperings. And my own…my own books.”

To her surprise, he looked amused. “My collection does not suffice?”

“I like novels,” Margaret informed him steadily. She waited for the mockery, but he did not give it. 

“I’m afraid I have none, but we can go to the bookseller and order whatever strikes your fancy,” He fidgeted a little and took no closer steps to her. It was almost comical how far across the room he was from her.

“You’re not fond of novels?” She asked dryly.

To her surprise, he nodded. “I am, but I rarely purchase them. Usually I borrow them.”

She didn’t know what to say. She’d never met a man who would openly admit to reading novels. But perhaps this vulnerability came from the fact that they were alone. Alone. Together. On their wedding night, in his chambers…in their chambers. 

Margaret swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. She supposed she should get on the bed, but her feet were rooted to the floor. 

Mr. Thornton seemed like he didn’t know what to say either. In any other circumstance, it would be almost endearing how out of sorts he was; so different from his usual authoritative presence. 

He swallowed hard. “I apologize if my mother…embarrassed you.”

“She did,” Margaret returned. 

He closed his eyes. “I do not—I do not wish this to be unpleasant for you.”

She flushed. “You do not wish what be unpleasant for me?” She demanded icily. 

Mr. Thornton sighed. “Our life together.”

Perhaps he had a point. She had promised him, after all. Till death do us part. One wretched promise following another, first to her bedridden mother, now to her new husband. But how on earth could life with Mr. Thornton be anything but unpleasant? 

Her husband closed his eyes in seeming patience. “I think we should retire. It has been a very long day for us both.”

At this proclamation, Margaret took a hasty step backwards. She tried to cover up the terrified movement by turning briskly towards the dressing table and examining her hairbrush, which had been placed there. But it did not escape Mr. Thornton’s notice and he sighed again. She felt like a scared rabbit, terrified to go anywhere near him. She had spent the entire day dreading this part of the wedding. Perhaps it would be better if he would just…get it over with.

With this in mind, Margaret gritted her teeth like a soldier and marched towards the bed. She flung the bedcovers aside and crawled underneath them. She lay still as a corpse. She briefly wondered if she should have removed her nightgown to make things…easier…but she found herself quite paralyzed. 

Mr. Thornton stared at her stiff figure and shook his head a little. He turned out the gas lamp and Margaret heard some shuffling of clothes. Oh God, he wouldn’t come to bed stark naked would he? No, no, she could see shadows as her eyes adjusted to the darkness; he was pulling on nightclothes. 

And then he was joining her under the covers. Margaret waited in breathless terror.

But he did not move. In fact, his back was to her. 

She cleared her throat. “Er—”

“Good night, Margaret,” His voice was curt. “Sleep well.”

And then there was not another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, darlings! I appreciate your patience with me. I'm hoping to get back on a regular updating schedule for December. 
> 
> ...I sort of built up that wedding night scene didn't I? Now come on, they can't have sex yet, they need to broil in sexual tension first! (And there's no way Mr. Thornton would force Margaret if he saw she was uncomfortable and she is CLEARLY uncomfortable.) 
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments!


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